IT'S BEEN THREE YEARS.
That's how long it's been since she died.
The doctor said it was sudden cardiac death, claiming it was the "largest cause of natural death in the United States." Michael didn't understand why a perfectly healthy 23-year-old had died from sudden cardiac death, especially since the doctor said women didn't get it nearly as much as men did. The fact that there wasn't really any warning signs or symptoms that could have given Michael a chance to save her also bothered him, and he never really had gotten over it.
Michael remembers the day it happened: December 8th, three years ago today. There wasn't any thing different about that day: Michael had gone to work, and picked up their daughter from day-care on the way home, knowing that Sarah was cooking dinner, like she usually did. When he walked through the door, she was just there, on the ground, not responding to any of Michael's cries. He had called 911, of course, and they rushed her out as soon as possible, but she was already dead before he had come home.
Michael laid some pink camellias down on her grave, a dull grey tombstone making a vast contrast with the vibrant colors. He knew the flowers wouldn't last long on the frosty grass, wilting away with the cool December air, but it didn't matter because he knew Sarah loved flowers.
He stared at the letters etched in the stone: Sarah Clifford, a loving wife, mother, daughter and friend.
Michael always came to her grave the first year, talking to her, pretending she was there. He must've spent hundreds upon hundreds of dollars on flowers, more money than he spent on flowers while she was alive, that's for sure.
He told her all about how he missed her, little things that their daughter did or what she was learning to do, the new restaurant down the street they built that Michael knew she would have loved. Michael wasn't religious, in fact he was angry at God for a long time after she died, but nonetheless he believed in heaven, and knew she was there.
The second year he came less often, because that's when Amelia had started kindergarten. He also got promoted at his job, becoming a general manager over the entire southwest region of Missouri for a local water company, making a fair amount of money for him and Amelia.
The third year...well he came for her birthday, Valentine's Day, their anniversary and today.
"Daddy?" Michael's daughter, Amelia, tugged at his hand she was holding.
"Mm?" Michael hummed.
"I miss her." She looked up towards her father.
Michael squeezed her hand, crouching down to her height and patting her curls. He wasn't even sure if she remembered much of Sarah besides pictures and videos, since she was only three when she passed away, but he smiled anyways.
"So do I, kiddo."
She dug into her light-pink coat pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper and a photo. She unfolded it, showing a crayon drawing of her, Michael, her uncle Calum, and the late Sarah with smiles.
She bent over, resting the Manila-colored paper in between the flowers. She took a step back in her little tennis shoes, that lit up when she walked, taking a look at the old photo. It was similar to her drawing, a orange-haired Michael, Sarah, Calum, all smiling over a small infant.
You could tell the photo was old, folded so often that there were creases disrupting the picture, the details had started to fade and the colors are becoming less vibrant, but that's because Michael knew Amelia carried the photo around everywhere with her.
